Cameesa - The Blog

   An American businessman took a vacation to a small coastal Mexican village on doctor’s orders.  Unable to sleep after an urgent phone call from the office the first morning, he walked out to the pier to clear his head.  A small boat with just one fisherman had docked, and inside the boat were several large yellowfin tuna.  The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish.
“How long did it take you to catch them?” the American asked.
“Only a little while,” the Mexican replied in surprisingly good English.
“Why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” the American then asked.
“I have enough to support my family and give a few to friends,” the Mexican said as he unloaded them into a basket.
“But… What do you do with the rest of your time?”
The Mexican looked up and smiled.  “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, Julia, and stroll into the village each evening, where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos.  I have a full and busy life, senor.”
The American laughed and stood tall.  “Sir, I’m a Harvard M.B.A. and can help you.  You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat.  In no time, you could buy several boats with the increased haul.  Eventually, you would have a fleet of fishing boats.”
He continued, “Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own cannery.  You would control the product, processing, and distribution.  You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village, of course, and move to Mexico City, then to Los Angeles, and eventually New York City, where you could run your expanding enterprise with proper management.”
The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, senor, how long will all this take?”
To which the American replied, “15-20 years. 25 tops.”
“But what then, senor?”
The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part.  When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich.  You would make millions.”
“Millions, senor?  Then what?”
“Then you would retire and move to a small coastal fishing village, where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, and stroll to the village in the evening where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos…”

I arrived in Poland safely and am actually typing this as I sit in my grandparent’s home.  I was absolutely stunned when I found out that they have Internet.  Poland has come a long way since I was here six years ago.  On our drive from Warsaw to Dabrowa Bialostocka, we passed by a green picket fence, and in large, white, bubble letters the sign on the fence read ‘Polish Army,’ I chuckled and thought ‘good luck guys’.

On a more serious note, my grandfather died before I flew out of Chicago and his funeral was held the day after I arrived.  I have very quickly learned that many Polish traditions are beautiful and I am very proud to be 100% Polish.

My grandfather, Jan Zarzecki, was 96 years old when he died on April 14th, 2009.  He was a father to 3 girls and 2 boys, and grandfather to 14 grandchildren (of which 11 were male.)

As he was dying, he insisted that after his funeral we celebrate and party.  He said “I want Vodka on all the tables, and dancing throughout the night.”  A Polish novelist, who served in World War II, and lived to tell many stories of his near-death experiences.

One of the many Polish traditions: my grandfather laid in the casket, in our living room, until the time of his funeral.  Two purple flags were placed on the house fence to notify others that a close one has passed.  Throughout the day, many village members arrived to pay their respects with flowers and with prayers.

The day of the funeral, we walked with the casket, from our home to the church.  The minute we stepped onto the street of Dabrowa, the church bells began to rang.  As we walked, family members joined at the hands and time stood still.  It was truly an amazing and eye-opening ceremony, as walked down the street, the entire village stopped what it was doing.  During the burial I had realized that my grandfather created everything that I was looking at: my parents, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins all existed because of him.  He was one of the many reasons that I existed in this world.

Rest in peace, Jan Zarzecki, April 14th 2009.

I would like to apologize on behalf of the Oracle, she was slow with her replies this year.  It appears that she was on vacation in the Bahamas recruiting for NN ‘09.  Without further a due, I give you the filthiest beards in the world.  Scroll to the bottom to see the NN’08  Champion.

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The contest has come to a close.  The Oracle will be accepting pictures until December 10th at midnight.

Please email your pictures to: kamil[at]cameesa[dot]com and I will forward them to the Oracle.  The Oracle will then announce “the chosen one” for each of their region.

Any beard-cheaters that are found will be severely punished, so please be very cautious with your submissions.

 he dust had finally settled on the field, a mixture of sweat and dirt caked his armor.  The dark black of blood stood out in bold relief upon his graying beard.  The man was not tall but he always dominated a room, he was not particularly handsome but to look in his eyes one knew he was not lacking in confidence, he had neither an expensive overcoat nor an abode in which he could welcome the heads of state, but one knew he was a Sovereign.The man who wondered into the wasteland so long ago observed his well used hands, thick with callous and strong from years of the iron. 

The campaign had gone well and victories were in abundance, but a uneasiness soon settled upon him.  It was getting more difficult to find new men to campaign with him.  Each battle was always a great victory and he had long ago achieved dominion over his enemies, but new men were not in abundance.

But the man simple shrugged and picked up.  He would continue his battle in the years ahead until there were no more men to accompany him.

nd after each golden age there is a dark age, just as the wheel has told time and again.  It is a time when there are few bearded men to gaze at on each street, no matter the cold.  It is a time of little movement.  It is a time of silence.  It is a time of mis-recollection.  The question is no longer “to grow ones beard or not” but simply “am I a man or not?”

Except from A time of darkness
Ka’shan Qing

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If you wish to participate in Neanderthal November 2008, you must obey two rules: 1) Do not shave throughout the month of November, 2) Send your pics to my email account or kamil[at]cameesa[dot]com, by the 10th of December.

Divisions will be dictated by country, province or state.  Divisional winners will be chosen by majority within the division OR the inner council will choose divisional winners.  The divisional winners will then be presented to the Oracle.  The Oracle will decide the grand champion.